


Graven Children

by TheSleepingKnight



Series: A Million Worlds Apart [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Fist Fights, Gen, Jason Todd Has Issues, One-Shot, Side Story, Stephanie Brown has PTSD, These Two Are Giant Messes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25700587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleepingKnight/pseuds/TheSleepingKnight
Summary: “We ran into each other on patrol. He said some shit that really wasn't called for. I hit him. He hit back. None of us got too hurt.”Of course, that is a gross understatement.
Series: A Million Worlds Apart [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863877
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Graven Children

It’s a dark and stormy night when Stephanie Brown runs into Jason Todd. Well, kind of. In all honesty it’s really more of a light drizzle, but this is _her_ internal monologue, so she got to decide the descriptors for this impromptu confrontation.

He’s got his helmet off, which is...concerning. She doesn’t remember seeing his face for a hot minute. He’s staring out across the skyline, a cigarette between his lips, tuff of white hair standing out like a flare against the darkness.

“Hey, Blondie.” He offers, slowly turning to face her, helmet tucked under his shoulder. “What brings you to this roof?”

“Blondie?” She asks, more confused by the familairy than anything. They’ve never been anything resembling _close._ She doesn’t even remember talking to him one-on-one before now, (although everyone’s memories were a bit of a scramble, at the moment. Damian had near gone mad searching for a friend that none of them could recall, and Tim was still reeling from the changes.) “And, you know. Patrol.”

“Still following orders from Daddy Bats, then? Thought you would have seen the smart play was to bail.” He takes another deep swig of his cigarette, as if he was some kind of edgy highschooler in an 80's flick. 

“Yes, because things were so much better before Bruce gave me a bulletproof suit.” She deadpans, uninterested in getting caught up in the bi-monthly Jason Drama. “Look, Bruce is a drama queen and high-key a dick but if this is some opening to a _join-me-in-my-villainous-ways_ speech I’m not interested.”

Jason’s smile doesn’t waver, but he does flick away the cigarette, his domino mask eyes reflexively narrowing into angry slits. Steph fights down the urge to grab her staff— She’s never seen Jason fight, not up close, but she’s gotten more than a few recountings from Tim how Jason could explode into violence at a moment’s notice.

“All this time, Brown. And you’re still not out from under your old man’s thumb.” He sneers, and she’s not proud of the fact that her knuckles are grinding against her gauntlets. “Aren’t you tired of him? Of Bruce, always expecting you to be as perfect as he pretends to be? You’re better than him and you know it.”

“Well, as amazing as I am, I’m not sure I could say I’m better than _Batman._ And if you’re so caught up on father figures tonight, Todd, why don’t we talk about _yours?_ ”

Jason slips out a deep chuckle, the kind only people with evil intentions have.

“Not a bad comeback, Blondie. But if you think I give two shits about my old man, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

“Uh-huh. So you executed the Penguin for kicks, then?” Jason stops smiling, and that’s how she knows that things are about to get ugly.

“That wasn’t me.” Jason hisses. “That was— that was who that blue fucker _made me_. I don’t give a damn about my dad and I don’t give a damn about you.” Gee, what a shocker. It would have hurt if she wasn’t used to it.

“Then why are you still bothering me, Todd?" Steph demands, already tired of this and of _him._ "Or did you just wanna pick a fight?”

“I was _trying_ to see if you had actually grown a spine. You and I are just alike, Brown. We both died for Bruce and that still wasn’t enough. You _remember_ now, so don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how he uses you up until he leaves you behind. It’s what he’s done to all of us. Dick, me, r _eplacement,_ you. Cass and Damian and Duke are next. He’s like a rabid dog. He’ll eat and eat and eat you up, all your dreams and nightmares and hopes and wants until you’re a broken husk, and then he’ll move onto the next Robin and leave you in the cold or in the ground. Someone has to stop him.”

“So that’s what this is? You want me to help you kill Bruce?” Ignoring all of... _that_ little speech, she was Batgirl. She wasn't going to kill the man who had created the symbol on her chest. 

“You _want_ to kill him, Brown. You’re just too afraid of being like your dad to admit it. He left you to die. He treated you like shit your entire fucking life and even after you died for him, it wasn’t enough. Cause Bruce only loves people once they leave his life. You know it. You _want_ to take him down for everything he’s done to you. To all of us.”

Steph breathes in.  
  
(whatifhesrightohgodohgodihatebrucesomuchineverwantedanyofthisijustwantedtohelppeopleohgodpleasei'monlytwentytwoplease)

And out.

“Yeah.” She admits.”So what’s your excuse?”

“ _Excuse me?”_ He snarls, taking a step forwards. “Do— do you have any idea who you’re talking to?”

“Yeah,” Steph says, the words she’s been caging up spilling out despite all of the warnings her brain is desperately flashing, “I know who you are, Jason Todd. You’re the kid who everyone loved, even before you died, and I know that you’ve spent your entire second chance doing nothing but hurting the people who care about you the most.”

“You think Bruce _cares_ about me?” Jason rages, spittle flying from his mouth. “He left me to die!”

“I’m sure that’s what Talia said. Did you ever think to maybe ask _Bruce,_ Dick or even Alfred before you went on your stint of burning Gotham down, or did you just trust the terrorist and set fire to everything?”

“You wanna talk about burning down Gotham, Brown? I’m not the one who sparked a gang war because she was too damn stupid to recognize an obvious alias.” She’s not in the room. She’s on a rooftop with Jason Todd, who is being a total and complete _bitch._ The time is 12:14 in the morning, and she is alive. She’s not in the room. She’s not—

“I’m not the one who did it on _purpose._ ” She spits, which probably wasn’t the wisest move but _fuck him._

“You— I went after Black Mask to avenge _you,_ and this is the thanks I get?”

“Oh, _bullshit_ you went after him cause of me!” She snaps. “You went after him because he was the biggest crime lord in town. Don’t pretend you give a damn about me or anyone else in this family. I’m pretty sure the reason you haven’t tried to kill me yet was because I was _dead_ when you came back around.”

Jason’s silent at that.

“Well,” he says after a minute, tone so frozen the rain seems to shiver, “why don’t we fix that?”

She only just avoids the range of the smoke bomb, ducking behind the brick chimney even as the gunshots ring out. If she was him, she’d be sure to install thermal tracking in her helmet, and use a type of smoke that wouldn’t interfere with it. And she’d also be sure to have gas filters in the mask to prevent any counter-smoke from affecting her. So the best move would be—

She throws a batarang around the corner, one of her own design.

For years, bullets had been a problem for them— mobility wasn’t something any of them could afford to compromise on, often it was their flexibility that kept them alive— but that meant body armor could only be so resistant to accommodate. As such, they had needed alternatives to dealing with guns. The answer had, surprisingly, come from the altered timeline nonsense. If nothing else, the timeline changes had one good effect: it had seriously expanded the arsenal the family had at their disposal. This particular batarang had several of Bruce’s miniature super-magnets, molded into the design. It had made the effective range shorter, but considering that only one of them was strong enough to attach metal-clad gangsters to a moving train, it was a worthy trade off. She’d made it with this exact purpose in mind: to rid assailants of guns and have them carried off the playing field.

Even as she picks up on the digitized snarl of surprise mixed with rage, she’s flipping over her cover, twisting and activating her own thermal vision, seeing her batarang carrying away his guns, landing in a roll and charging him, drawing her tri-staff. With barely a twist of her wrist, she flicks the end of her weapon towards his face. In a move that’s pure boldness, he knocks it aside with a gloved fist, steps back to avoid the retailing swipe and smoothly draws a sword out of _nowhere._

“What?” She asks, preparing herself for the oncoming onslaught. “You ripping off of Damian’s shtick?”

“Figure that if you’re gonna be good for anything, you’ll be good for practice.”

And then it begins in earnest, metal ringing out against metal as her tri-staff clashed with his blade. She’d chosen this weapon for range and unpredictability, and she uses every bit of that to counter his powerful cleaves and strikes that rattled her bones with each hit. He tests her with simple slashes and then introduces stabs, trying to snake past her guard. He’s solidly grounded in contrast to her more athletic movements, creating a silver blur around her body.  
  
She goes on the offensive, aiming a blow at his head, and he blocked, triggering the staff to split into three chained segments, which whipped the final portion down into his helmet, an audible _crunch_ being added to the song of violence. He flicks it away, not showing any kind of pain or surprise, but she has the advantage now, using the new mode to sneak blows past his guard, snapping it around his sword to crash into his body. He adapts, but not before she’s landed several blows on him, and _oh_ is that satisfying. They exchange hits again, and even as she whirls and snaps and smacks his blade, he powers through it all. Jason's endurance was nigh-legendary, she had no illusions about beating him through strength alone. But his sword didn't appear to be anything special, and if she kept bashing it, it's edge would dull or perhaps even snap, and she'd hold the advantage.   
  
So Jason retaliates with another move that’s so bold one might call it reckless— he goes for a stab, and when she moves to deflect, he reaches out and seizes her staff.

She’s heard it said that any student is both the sum of all of their teachers and themselves.

She becomes Cassandra and shifts, throwing herself up and over, twisting in the air until she lands behind him, and now only his sword is stopping her from choking him out with the staff. Jason opts for the simplest way out, and carves straight through the small chain link, and even as she draws back, he manages to twist and slice through the second chain, leaving her with two sticks.

So she becomes Nightwing, flickering out both weapons as fast as a snake’s tongue, not allowing Jason an inch as she batters his sword with a blisteringly fast barrage. He weathers it and finds an opening she hadn’t even realized was there, and only the reflexes from a lifetime of being a vigilante saves her from getting stabbed through the throat, trapping the blade between her weapons.

“So,” Jason growls, voice still filtered. “Someone’s been taking lessons from Dick.”

“Yep _._ ” She breathes out, delighted that she’s not winded yet.

“Hm.” Jason frees his sword and his left hand goes to his back, bringing out a second pistol. Steph flings one of her sticks, knocking the first shot off course. She brings around the other one to block the sword strike, twisting to stay at his back, jumping over his kick and delivering her own to his head, only realizing her mistake as he roles and comes up firing, and she’s forced to go airborne, twisting, turning flinging what’s left of her staff straight at his head, the three shots burning through her cape. He bats it out of the air, but it occupies his hand, so the batarang that sails through the air is able to once more skew his aim, bullet burying itself in the bricks.

Steph rushes him, letting go of Nightwing and becoming Batman. He opts for the sword, and she catches it with an armored fist and activates the taser built into her gloves. He screams and drops the sword, and drops herself to avoid the two reactionary gunshots, and plants a fist in his balls.

There’s an electronic _whuff,_ and if she wasn’t fighting for her life, she’d laugh. But instead of laughing, she’s up and sliding past his guard, forcing the gun away from her. She slams her fist into his helmet and then gets a knee buried in her side, and then her world is spent spinning with a single punch because he’s fucking _strong,_ a kick nearly sends her sprawling, and the gun is approaching her head and she has no other option but—

She lets go of Batman and becomes herself.

And she grabs Jason Todd by his stupid jacket and throws both of them off the roof.

They slam into a fire escape ledge, Steph fires a grapnel mid-grapple and slams Todd into a wall, two more gunshots screaming in her ear, and a punch means that she’s let go of the grapnel and they’re both falling, slamming against a closed dumpster and rolling onto the wet streets of Gotham.

Her nerves are singing with pain, a solo piece in her shoulder and a choir in her back, but he’s getting back up, so she charges, flicking out a batarang to bury in his shoulder.

She stops cold as he presses the gun to her temple faster than she can blink. He slowly lifts up his head, still on his knees, and the impact had caused his helmet to shatter, and his bright blue eyes look so much like Bruce’s own it takes what’s left of her breath away.

“Not bad, Batgirl.” He admits. “But I’m afraid this is over.”

“It would be.” Steph agrees, “if I didn’t know how to count. That’s an M1911 Colt. It has a round capacity of seven, and you always chamber one, which brings it up to eight. You’re out.”

There’s silence once more, and then—

And then he gives a soft laugh.

“Yeah, I know you can count.”

His other arm snakes out and jams a taser into her neck, where her armor had been compromised by his sword, and her world is pain. “But you’re not the only one with toys.” She grits her teeth and she tries, she really tries but—

She goes down.

“Finally.” He mutters. “You’re a stubborn bastard, aren’t you Brown?”

“Same to you.” She manages to hiss out, trying to will her limbs into action, but they stay stubbornly locked.

“Enjoy being Bruce’s pet. I’m leaving Gotham. You won’t like it when I come back, Brown. And when I do, remember I offered you an out.” He starts walking away, but Steph manages to force herself to grab his ankle in an act that she’s sure she’ll regret later.

"You fucking idiot." Steph swallows the blood welling up her mouth. "You went to the grave loved and when you crawled out, you chose to spit on everything you had. I went to the grave hated and even crawling back out wasn't enough. You had _everything_ I wanted. You still could, and you’re throwing it all away just to spite Bruce.” She wheezes out a laugh. “You know what’s sad, Todd? The fact that you think Bruce hates you. He’d give anything to have you back. He can’t wait to get rid of me.”

Jason frees himself from her grip and walks away, vanishing into the night of Gotham. Steph opts to drag herself towards a wall and rest, just for a little bit.

Just for a…

Little bit.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's confused, this is expanding on my other fic, If I Could Tell Them, which is what the summary is from. 
> 
> And yeah, Steph is being a little unfair to Jason here, but also from her perspective, all Jason's done since he came back is try and hurt the people closest to her, so.


End file.
